


No Returns, No Refunds

by AnnieVH



Category: Galavant (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Deals, F/M, Gen, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3560381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, Rumpelstiltskin made a deal with a whiny King who wanted a Queen. But when the King is dissatisfied with his deal, how does he force the Dark One to change his exchange policy? By kidnapping his son, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enchanted Forrest, many years ago

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Missing year AU.
> 
> Beta: As always, Maddie did the beta and helped me with a much needed brainstorm!
> 
> After almost a whole year without touching this story, the new season of Galavant sparked up some ideas and this is finally, FINALLY getting updated. Chapter One has been reposted with minor modifications.

“I bet it's only a medallion.”

“And why, pray tell, would you say that?”

Jefferson stopped just before the open doors and listened to Belle's musical giggle.

“Because you always do this,” she said, in good nature. “You vanish for a couple of days, then you walk in with something flashy, showing off with all these big stories. But you never really let me see what these things do. Like that lamp you claim to have a genie.”

“ _Had_ a genie.”

“And that gauntlet that almost got me killed.”

“Well, if I still _had_ the gauntlet, I'd show you. But I don't, and who's to blame for-”

“And how about the Golden Fleece?” she asked, throwing him a challenge.

“That, dearie, is very much real.” His tone was defensive, as it always was whenever she challenged one of his treasures. Jefferson wished she'd do that more often, it was so very entertaining to watch.

There was a moment of silence.

Then, the Dark One's indignant voice. “I can't just show you how it works! Mystery adds value to a piece. And as shocking as it is to you, dearie, I have no reason to show off to the help.”

“Right. Just so you know, I dusted a few flees off your Golden Fleece this morning. I don't think they showered that lamb very often before they painted it yellow and sold you the wool.”

Jefferson let out a little chuckle before he could stop himself.

Inside the other room, the conversation died.

“And who, I wonder, could that be?” Rumpelstiltskin said, displeased.

Jefferson walked through the open doors without a trace of shame.

“Good afternoon, Dark One. Lady Belle,” he said, taking off his hat and offering them a bow of his head.

Belle was sitting on the table, leg crossed at the ankles and a smile on her face that only doubled in size when she saw him.

“Jefferson! How nice of you to drop by.”

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin said, getting off his chair to pace the room and get as far away from his little maid as he could, as if the simple proximity was compromising enough. “As uninvited as ever.”

“What treasures were the two of you debating this time?”

“A medallion that is said to invoke a soul sucking demon,” Belle started to tell him.

Rumpelstiltskin cut in by shouting, “Belle!”

“Yes, yes,” she said, dismissive, already knowing what kind of complaint she'd have to deal with this time. “Mystery adds value to a piece.” She hopped off the table and headed for the cabinet to retrieve another teacup and saucer. “Would you like some tea?”

“Belle!” Rumpelstiltskin shouted again.

She didn't even startle. Instead, she just gave him a very annoyed, “What?”

“Need I remind you, _yet again_ , who is the Master of this castle?” he growled.

“It's alright, Dark One,” Jefferson said. “I can use the chipped cup.”

As expected, Rumpelstiltskin snatched the chipped cup out of his reach before he even realized what he was doing. Belle turned away, but Jefferson could see a little smile reflected on the glass door of the cabinet.

Rumple chose a snarl to cover his indiscretion. “Now, what is it you want? As far a I remember, dearie, we have no business today.”

“Now, is this how you treat an old friend?” Jefferson teased. “Especially an old friend who brought you a gift.”

“A gift?” he repeated with a manic giggle. “And how much gold will this generous gift cost me?”

“I'll let you decide that for yourself, but I think you'll deem it worth, say...” Jefferson pretended to do the math quietly in his head. “As much as I can carry out of here.”

“My my,” Rumpelstiltskin said, still very unimpressed. “Well, dearie, unless you're bringing me a magic bean, you'll be lucky if I let you walk out of here with the clothes off your back. If I don't make you walk out as a snail.”

“Though, in this case, you'd have to crawl,” Belle said, coming closer to offer Jefferson his cup.

Rumpelstiltskin turned to face her with a vicious glare. She seemed quite unaffected by it.

“I would, wouldn't I?” Jefferson laughed.

Belle joined in with a giggle.

“Regardless!” Rumpelstiltskin shouted, making them both stop and stare at the floor, biting the inside of their cheeks for good measure. “What is it that you brought to waste my time with this time, Jefferson? And it better be good.”

“Rumple!” he said, feigning offense. “Have I ever let you down?”

“Constantly.”

“I've brought you a King from another realm.”

“I'm not in the business of kidnapping, Jefferson,” he stated, making a large flourish with the hand that wasn't holding the chipped cup. “Too many tears and escape attempts. Besides, this castle is already counting with one occupant too many.”

“Ah, but he is not here for you to demand a ransom. He wants to make a deal, and he's brought quite a few treasures he's willing to part with.”

Belle looked from Rumpelstiltskin to the Portal Jumper, eagerly awaiting a decision. She had been locked inside that castle for nearly six months now. Mostly, her companions were the relics Rumpelstiltskin collected and they didn't talk – well, most of them. The thought of meeting another person – a King nonetheless! - was exciting.

“So,” Jefferson pressed. “Do I invite him for tea, or take him back to his Kingdom and leave you to your bickering?”

“I do not _bicker_ ,” Rumpelstiltskin said, pointing the chipped cup to Jefferson's chest. The Portal Jumper gave it a poignant look and, as soon as Rumpelstiltskin realized what he was doing, he put the teacup back on the table and ordered, “Go get him! Quickly, before I change my mind.”

Jefferson left with another bow of the head.

In a snap of his fingers, Rumpelstiltskin was covered in smoke. When it cleared, he had put on his best coat, the one with the high crocodile skin lapels. Belle had once asked if he had skinned the crocodile himself.

“No,” he had answered, looking comically disgusted. “I bought it! Like a civilized person!”

He soothed his vest and checked the brooch on the scarf. Impeccable business attire for a King.

“And you,” he turned to Belle, his voice already growing in pitch. “Prepare the tea.”

“Alright.”

“And be _respectful_.”

She stopped half-way to the cabinet and raised her eyebrows. “Respectful?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Enlighten me.”

Rumpelstiltskin growled. Served him well. That's what happens when you have a Lady for a maid.

“I mean limit yourself to pouring the tea. Keep your invaluable opinions to yourself.”

She stared at him. Then, she said, “I see.” But her tone was lacking in any emotion. “God forbid the Dark One is caught _bickering_ with the maid.”

“I do not bicker-” he started saying, and Belle seemed ready to debate the issue, when Jefferson returned, announcing quite loudly, “Here they are! King Richard of Wealth and Stature, and Sir Gareth, his faithful knight and henchman.”

“Aha!” Rumpelstiltskin said, turning to face them with a large flourish and a high pitched voice. “Your majesty! Welcome to the Dark Castle.”

Belle rolled her eyes and proceeded back to the cabinet to get the other tea cups. She had seen that little play before, over and over. After a while, it stopped being funny.

“I am Rumpelstiltskin!” he said, rolling that R for dear life and making a long curtsy. “Or as I am known in this Kingdom, the Dark One.”

Belle peeked over her shoulder. The King was unmistakable, for he wore a golden crown that seemed too big for his head and was encrusted with sparkling precious stones. The man at his right was large and imposing; he had his eyes on Rumpelstiltskin, one hand on the handle of his sword, and the other holding a large white sack over his shoulder. While the King was regarding the wizard with curiosity, the Knight seemed suspicious of his every movement. One thing was sure, neither was impressed by his dramatic introduction.

“He is rather short for a wizard,” King Richard complained to Jefferson. “I thought he would be bigger.”

Rumpelstiltskin pushed himself upright immediately.

Jefferson jumped between the two men before the wizard decided to take offense. The last King who had offended his height was sent home without his legs.

“Ah! But don't be fooled, King Richard,” Jefferson said, sounding as dramatic as Rumpelstiltskin. Belle shook her head in the background. Those two could put on a great double act, if only they put their minds to it. “Despite his short stature, the Dark One is the most feared, most respected practitioner of magic in all the realms.”

King Richard's nose crinkled. “Meh. I don't see it.”

Belle hissed her teeth. Any time now, somebody would disappear in a cloud of smoke and reappear as a snail, or worse.

“But he'll show you,” Jefferson promised, raising a finger to ask for the King's attention. Rumpelstiltskin narrowed his eyes. “The Dark One will demonstrate his unlimited power to-”

There was a loud _poof_.

Belle let out a little cry.

King Richard took a step back, saying, “ _Ohmygodnoway_!” in one breath.

Even Sir Gareth seemed impressed enough to raise his eyebrows.

On the spot where once stood Jefferson there was only a purple caterpillar.

Rumpelstiltskin giggled to himself. “I think I like him better like this. No talking. And no bright ideas.”

He raised his foot, but Belle cried out, “Rumpelstiltskin!” making him stop, turn around, take a look at her face. Then sigh and say, “Ugh, fine.” And turned him back into a man.

Jefferson had to hold on to the table not to faint on the floor.

King Richard clapped his hands frantically. “ _Bravo_! _Bravo_!”

“ _You were going to step on me_!” Jefferson accused him.

“Serves you well for bringing rude guests.”

“That was amazing!” King Richard said. “Absolutely amazing! Wasn't it Gareth?”

“Don't know,” Sir Gareth said, shaking his head. “Once I met a guy who could saw a woman in two.”

“Well, if you're volunteering,” Rumpelstiltskin said, taking a step forward.

Jefferson held him off with his arm, saying, “Actually, why don't we leave the party tricks for later and get down to business?”

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin said, still staring at Sir Gareth as if he was wondering what kind of caterpillar he would make. Brushing off his visitors, he headed for his chair and flung himself in it. “Now, why are you here?”

King Richard looked around. “Where do I sit?”

“You don't.”

“This isn't very good customer service.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at the King. Then at Jefferson, silently making it clear that everything was his fault.

“Maybe you should tell Rumpelstiltskin what you need, Your Majesty,” Jefferson pressed.

“If I must,” King Richard said. He cleared his throat. “This is a very personal matter, Dark One.”

To make sure the King understood his complete indifference to the matter, Rumpelstiltskin said absolutely nothing.

“Let me tell you my tale of solitude and woe.”

“Quickly,” Rumpelstiltskin ordered.

“It shan't take more than a minute and half. You see, I am the King of Wealth and Stature, a prospering Kingdom far away from this Enchanted Forest...”

King Richard stopped talking and lost his sight somewhere beyond the window. Then he took in a deep breath.

But after a few seconds of holding it in, as if waiting for something incredible to happen, he let it all out, looking absolutely befuddled.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at the Jefferson once again.

Jefferson cleared his throat and leaned closer to the King, “Your Majesty, they don't do that in this land.”

“Really?” King Richard repeated, then exchanged surprised looks with his Knight. “But how do they expose their tragic pasts and express overwhelming emotions?”

“We don't,” Rumpelstiltskin said, looking more annoyed each time. “We bottle everything up like people are supposed to. Is there a point to this?”

“He wants to find his True Love,” Jefferson said.

“Dammit, Jefferson,” King Richard whined. “ _I_ wanted to be the one to say it.”

“Oh no.”

The four men turned to face Belle who, after taking an embarrassingly long time preparing tea (Rumpelstiltskin was yet to meet someone more unprepared for housework than that girl), was finally approaching them with the full tray. The look on her face was one of heartbreak.

“Belle!” Rumpelstiltskin said, loud enough to shut her up. “What did we talk about?”

The heartbreak in her eyes turned to offense in the blink of an eye, but she put down the tray and started pouring the tea.

“Now,” Rumpelstiltskin said, “tell me more of this True Love.”

“But if he's looking for True Love-” Belle tried again.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't give her the chance.

“Belle!” he commanded.

The girl didn't bother to look intimidated when she asked, “Yes, _oh_ , Dark One?”

Jefferson started laughing. A stern look from Rumple was enough for him to keep any comments to himself though.

“More pouring tea,” Rumple said, threatening. “And less attitude.”

“I will try, _oh_ , Dark One.”

“You see, ever since I was made King, I've been having problems with this whole leadership thing,” King Richard told him, bringing their discussion to a halt. “I am a very powerful and rich King to a prosperous Kingdom, but I am not as... respected as I should be, do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Murder somebody,” Rumpelstiltskin said, taking a sip of his tea. “It's done wonders for the Evil Queen's reputation.”

“I've tried that already,” King Richard whined. “I tried mass murdering and burning down villages and enslaving people, really, there is always a hero to come and save the day and make me look like a perfect _butt_. Pardon my French,” he added, looking at Belle.

Belle was staring at him, holding out a saucer and looking, in Jefferson's opinion, like someone who was wondering why all the madmen came to Rumpelstiltskin's castle, or why did she think meeting a King who was willing to make a deal with a dark wizard would be a fun experience.

“Oh, my tea, thank you very much.” With a tenderness that seemed very incompatible with mass murder and general villainy, the King took a sip of his tea and offered her a smile. “Very nice.”

Belle answered “thank you” in a small voice and collected her things, suddenly eager to leave the room.

“Then, a few nights ago, as I was hugging my pillow, I came to a sudden realization,” announced the King. “Raising taxes, throwing people into dungeons, executing my enemies, all of this is fine if you want to be feared, but what does every respected King has that a loser King doesn't?”

“The ability to tell a compelling story?” Rumpelstiltskin replied, leaned on one hand and looking more and more bored.

“No,” King Richard replied, completely overlooking the sarcasm.

“Lands and a loyal army?” Jefferson offered.

“Also helpful, but no.”

“A bigger crown?” Sir Gareth suggested, making the King turn around and snap, “Dammit, Gareth! I already told you!”

“I forgot it.”

Belle said, “A Queen.”

All four men turned to face her.

She shrugged. “It's in many books.”

The King said, “Exactly! That is the secret to success. A King without a Queen is no proper King. He's just an idiot with a crown. And a lonely throne. Where his mother will sit. And other Kings will make fun of him because of-”

“So what you are saying is,” Rumpelstiltskin said, to cut the conversation short, “you want _me_ to find you a Queen.”

“Basically, yes. But not just _any_ Queen. A _special_ Queen.”

“I fear to ask,” Rumpelstiltskin sighed. “But what constitutes a _special_ Queen, in your opinion?”

King Richard seemed to think about it. Then turned to Jefferson.

“Are you sure they don't do that here?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Oh, darn, this would be the perfect moment for it.”

“ _Jefferson_ ,” Rumpelstiltskin growled, to let him know his patience was at a limit.

“He wants a beautiful woman,” Jefferson hurried to say. “Someone he'll be glad to wake up every day next to, isn't that right, Your Majesty?”

“Oh yes,” King Richard said, eyes far off, trying to put together a mental image of the perfect woman. “A beautiful young woman, who I can share a cup of tea with, talk about my day, bicker over silly things. I want a... A Fairy Tale Marriage. Like you and your wife.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. “My what?”

Belle, who was half-way to the door, dropped the tea set on the floor.

Immediately, Rumpelstiltskin realized what had spooked her so much. “What? No!”

“I'm sorry,” Belle said, getting down to collect the broken china, her face quickly turning red. “I'm sorry, I'm clumsy, I'll be gone in a minute!”

“She's the help!” Rumpelstiltskin said, outraged.

“Pardon me,” Richard said. “Like you and your concubine.”

“His what!” Belle shouted from the floor, turning her red face to look at the rude King.

“No, it's alright, my dear,” King Richard said. “Nobody is judging you.”

“She's not, uhn,” Jefferson said, hold back his laughter the best he could. “She's not that kind of help. Just the maid.”

“Really?” asked the King. He gave Belle another look, then turned back to Jefferson. “So all maids just...” He motioned a very deep cleavage with his hands.

In his chair, Rumpelstiltskin started growling.

Belle got up, brushed her skirt and announced, “I'll come back and clean later,” and left the room with her chin up.

“So, uhn,” Jefferson tried, “so, now that you have stated what you need, why don't you show the Dark One what you can offer him in return, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, yes! Gareth!”

The Knight dropped the white sack he had been holding on the floor, where it rattled in a promising way.

King Richard untied it and said, “If you can find me a Queen, you will get in return... gold!” He started taking gold pieces out of the bag. “Let me see, we have it as a plate, a chalice, a... bundle of necklaces that you'll have to disentangle-”

“I can turn straw into gold.”

The King looked up. “Really?”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, unimpressed.

The King thought on it. “I don't think we brought straw, did we, Gareth?”

“No. But I can fetch some.”

Rumpelstiltskin eyed Jefferson, who was rubbing his face nervously. This was going far worse than he could have possibly imagined, and he knew exactly who the Dark One would blame for the wasted time.

“We may not have straw, but we do have this shiny silver jewelry box, filled with the most amazing jewelry you can think of-”

“They don't go with my complexion,” he said, still staring at Jefferson.

“You're a tough one,” King Richard said, with a little smile. “But I know there must be something in this bag that will make you smile.”

Jefferson thought that, judging by the look on Rumpelstiltskin's face, the only thing able to make him smile would be to turn them all into roaches and step on them to his heart's content.

“How do you feel about having your very own, easily portable slave?”

Much to their surprise, King Richard produced a small man from inside the sack and held him up by the back of his collar.

“His name is Chef and he will cook for you.”

“Hello,” said the little man, dangling from King Richard's hand.

“I don't keep slaves,” Rumpelstiltskin stated, leaning forward, and Jefferson realized he was about to pay for bringing in unrequested bad clientele.

“I grant you, he won't look as good in a corset,” said King Richard. “But his food is actually quite tasty.”

Rumpelstiltskin raised his hand and got ready to snap his fingers.

Jefferson braced himself.

And that was when Gareth announced, “There's this old box.”

Before anybody could say anything – or be turned into a roach – Rumpelstiltskin had jumped off his chair, grabbed the box and announced, “Deal!”

Jefferson sighed, “ _Ohthankgod_!”

King Richard looked at Rumpelstiltskin, who quickly said, “Here, sign on the dotted line,” and produced a long contract with his free hands. But his eyes were still focused on the small dusty box that had come out of the sack, as if it were a hidden treasure.

Sir Gareth narrowed his eyes at the wizard, wondering what was so special about that box, and if maybe they were selling it too cheap.

Thankfully for Rumpelstiltskin, Jefferson was too full of relief to pay attention to what was happening around him, and King Richard was too overjoyed to care. He dropped the small man on the floor (he quickly crawled back into the bag, least he be forgotten in this strange land), and signed his name as ordered.

Immediately, the contract disappeared and Rumpelstiltskin finally took his eyes from the box. His bored demeanor changed back to his high pitched glee and, with a large smile, he told the King, “Here it is, the most reliable way to find a Queen.” With another poof of smoke, he produced another parchment, this one much smaller, and explained, “Go back to your land and write down everything you expect your future Queen to be on this piece of paper. The ink will form a map and it will give you the exact location of the woman of your dreams.”

King Richard snatched the parchment from his hand before the wizard had the chance to change his mind.

Rumpelstiltskin gave him one of his manic giggles and continued, “After that, all you have to do is chase her down and win the lovely maiden's heart.” He placed a hand full of claws over his chest.

“And 'ow's supposed to do that?” Sir Gareth asked, as if that was the truly challenging part of the quest. Which it probably was.

“Oh ho ho,” Rumpelstiltskin laughed, eyes back on the plain black box he had received for his services. “That is up to you, dearie. Offer some gold and jewelry, since you're so fond of it. Now leave,” he said, waving them away with his free hand. “You've already taken up too much of my time.”

“Yes, thank you, Dark One,” Jefferson said, pulling the King away and thanking God he was being allowed out of the castle in one piece.

“Oh, and Jefferson,” Rumpelstiltskin called after the pieces of gold had been thrown back into the bag and the three men were getting close to the door.

“Yes, Dark One,” Jefferson said, dreading whatever was coming.

“Don't forget to take your gold before you leave.”

“Yes, Dark one.”

He took another step towards freedom.

“And Jefferson.”

He swallowed. “Yes, Dark One?”

“Good job.”

Jefferson's mouth was too dry to thank him or do anything other than hum a neutral sound, before turning around and rushing out of the room with the King and his Knight.

“You can come out now, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin called out. “There is still a mess for you to clean.”

Belle peeked inside the room, then made her way to Rumpelstiltskin with eyes full of curiosity.

“What does the box do?”

“I'll tell you what it _doesn't_ do.”

Belle regarded him full of expectation.

“I _doesn't_ clean the floor for you.”

He pointed at the broken tea set on the floor and giggled at her annoyance. With an angry look on her face, she got on her knees and picked up the broken pieces of china.

“You do have a problem, though,” Belle said.

“And what problem would that be?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, half paying attention to her, and half trying to choose the best place for his new treasure.

“True Love cannot be found by Dark Magic,” Belle told him. “It is extremely unreliable, or so say all your books.”

“Is that so?”

“What will happen when King Richard comes back because he couldn't find the love of his life and wants _that_ ” she pointed at the box, “back.”

“I will point out that he did not ask me for True Love. You see, according to the King himself, his priority was to find a suitable Queen, and that is what I did.”

“But he doesn't know that.”

“It was in the contract!” Rumpelstiltskin said, making the document reappear.

He held it close to Belle's nose and she read it out loud.

 

_Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, Lord of the Dark Castle, and King Richard of Wealth and Stature, hereby agree on the following terms:_

_Clause #1: Rumpelstiltskin will provide King Richard with a way to find a woman who the King deems suitable to be his Queen and rule at his side. In exchange, Rumpelstiltskin can choose any item from the sack of treasures King Richard brought into the castle._

_Clause #2: It is hereby stated that True Love cannot be created, forced or found by Dark Magic and, therefor, King Richard has been advised that making his Queen fall in love with him will be on his shoulders._

_Clause #3: If King Richard is not satisfied with his choice of Queen, the Dark One will accept no returns and offer no refunds. It is well known that True Love cannot be forced on anybody and the King should've known better and lowered his expectations._

 

“You're a real romantic,” Belle dead-panned, getting up with a tray full of broken china.

“Love isn't easy, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin said, making the contract vanish once again. “If it were, everyone would have it.”

“Well, I'd be careful.”

Rumpelstiltskin giggled. “Careful? What do _I_ have to worry about?”

“You gave that man a lot of hope and set him up for a heartbreak. And when that happens, I wouldn't want to find out what he might do.”

With that, she left the room.

Rumpelstiltskin had the urge to yell after her and have the last word in the argument, be it by explaining how someone as powerful as the Dark One didn't have to worry about pathetic lonely Kings, be it by spilling out secrets (“ _Too bad we won't be around when_ that _happens._ ”), but he held his tongue. If he tried to win every argument he ever had with that girl, his days would become a lot less productive. And right now, he had better things to worry about. Such was finding a safe place to store Pandora's Box.

One of the worlds most dangerous treasures for a magical map.

The deal of a lifetime.

 

 

 


	2. Kingdom of Wealth and Stature, still a long time ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after the events of Season One, Richard is sulking and Gareth is trying to cheer him up.

Not three years prior, King Richard of a Kingdom of Wealth and Stature thought he had found his happy ending. Or at least, that's what it felt like. Didn't all stories end in a lavish wedding to a delicate flower? And not only that, but something that started out as a kidnapping soon turned into what he supposed could only be True Love – after all, Madalena had chosen him over her annoying hero ex-boyfriend with a penchant for dramatics and interrupting key moments in his life. With a wife secured and a kingdom to invade, he was ready for his happily ever after.

How he ended up going back home alone and heartbroken was something he still couldn't explain. Madalena had found a devilishly handsome knight for herself. Galavant was ready to settle down with Princess Isabella and become the rightful King of Valencia. Even Chef had found love with Equally Small Maid and was ready to start a family of tiny peasants. But King Richard had returned home with nothing to show for himself but a failed marriage, an unfaithful ex-wife, and a lifelong peace treaty and military alliance with Valencia with a promise of future exchanges that were guaranteed to keep both kingdoms prosperous and safe.

He felt like such a loser.

When he let out a sorrowful sigh, Chef stepped up to ask, “Is the chicken not to your liking, my King?”

“It's fine,” King Richard answered, but his heart wasn't in it.

“Would it cheer you up if I fed it to you? Making carriage noises?”

“I think the King's problems can't be solved with a servant mouth-feeding him,” Gareth said, looking as unfriendly as ever, standing by his King's right arm.

“But if you want to try it, I'm open to it,” King Richard said, his eyes still dull and disappointed, but with a little spark of hope.

“Okiedokie!” Chef said, reaching for the fork, but giving up when Gareth placed a large hand on his shoulder and muttered, “Give us a minute.”

Chef was not a fool to argue with a grumpy knight, but he left the room looking as disappointed as the King, if not more. Ever since Gwen had gotten pregnant, he cherished any chance to practice his fatherly instincts, something Gareth truly didn't understand. After all, how hard could it be to raise a child?

“Cheer up, prospects are looking good,” Gareth told King Richard, trying to sound positive as he watched his King play around with the food on his plate. “Galavant is no longer a problem, the peasants are mildly happy, and life expectancy just raised to thirty five.”

“But it's so hard to be a good person, Gareth,” King Richard whined. “In moments of great ennui you're expected to deal with your feelings like a mature person. You can't go on random genocidal spurs to reassure your masculinity. What is the point of living if I can't order an execution to feel better about myself?” He raised his eyes to his knight. “Are you sure I can't go back to villainy?”

“It would make politics a lot harder, not to mention seriously hinder your character development.”

King Richard groaned and stomped all the way back to his throne. All that goody goody talk made him lose his appetite.

Gareth was patient. “All you need is a new hobby. Collecting stamps. Or, uhn, the lute? Or you could try acts of heroism-”

The King pointed a finger at him. “Don't ever mention that word in my presence again.”

“What? What's wrong with heroism?”

“I might be a good person and a responsible ruler, but I am _far_ from being a hero.” King Richard grimaced at that word. “There are certain lines you do not cross. You call yourself a hero and pretty soon you're living in a hut with other peasants, rescuing people for no personal gain whatsoever.”

“There are maidens though.”

“But then you have to fight dragons, break curses, climb the tallest towers.” He groaned. The thought of it alone was exhausting. “Why can't I just find a nice girl the usual way?”

“Arranged marriage?” Gareth asked, sounding very doubtful.

“It worked for my parents! They lived happily for twenty years, until dad got assassinated.”

“By your mother!”

“Speculation!”

“Well, unfortunately, my Liege,” Gareth said, “there's a serious lack of monarchs interested in making an alliance through marriage at the moment. Though I'm sure a long line of willing maidens will show up at our door if Wealth and Stature continues to prosper. Give it a couple of years. You know what they say... _There... is... always a willing maaaideeeen-_ ”

“Gareth, don't.”

Gareth stopped, the sound of music fading at the King's command.

He cleared his throat. “But, my Liege, I was just going to say that _there's always a willing_ -”

“I'm not in the mood, Gareth.”

“Fine!” Gareth snapped. “Sulk all you want. Bloody hell, might as well get a spinning wheel and start calling yourself a spinster with that attitude.”

“What did you _just_ say?”

Gareth looked at his King, wondering if he had hit a nerve and would be whipped for the insolence. Well, someone would _try_ to whip him for the insolence. Wouldn't end pretty for that guy.

“All I meant,” he said, trying that whole _tact_ thing Richard kept asking him to practice, “is that your defeatist attitude is not-”

“No, no, no,” the other man said, jumping out of his throne. _“Literally,_ what did you _just_ say?”

“That you should call yourself a spinster?”

“The other thing.”

“That you should sulk all you wan'?”

“The _other_ other thing!”

“...Bloody hell?”

“ _Dammit_ , Gareth! The spinning wheel part!”

Gareth grimaced, “Don't tell me your getting a spinning wheel. Your not that desperate.”

But King Richard didn't look ready to get a spinning wheel and wait for death to come while making yarn. In fact, there was a light in his eyes that Gareth hadn't seen in months.

“The imp!” the King hissed.

“What imp?”

“The imp that started this whole thing. The Dark One!”

“Yes?” Gareth asked, slow and cautious. He knew Richard well enough to recognize that tone in his voice. It was usually followed by astronomically bad ideas. Such as invading Valencia. Or tricking Galavant into coming to Madalena's rescue. Or giving the people a Prime Minister so that he could pretend the whole Democracy thing never happened and go back to being King with minor plot repercussions.

“If the Dark One started this whole mess,” King Richard declared, “he can very well fix it! He was well paid for his services and what he gave me was less than acceptable, wouldn't you agree?”

Gareth scratched his head, trying to follow his chain of thought. “I suppose...”

“Then we are going to go back to the Enchanted Forest to have a chat with that charlatan! Does he think he can fool a King and get away with it? Well, I don't think so! He is either going to compensate me for my problems, or he's going to pay the price! _Thaaaaaaat imp's gonna pay the price of_ -”

“Wait a bloody second!” Gareth cut in, pulling the king by the back of his shirt, and, in the process, silencing what seemed to be a very enthusiastic opening number. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I've heard Xanax is in the portal jumping business these days. I thought we could walk, slash, tap dance to his mother's house, and just improvise from there.”

“This is your plan? Use a magical door to cross realms, storm the castle of the most powerful wizard who ever lived – the both of us, not an army, the _both_ of _us_ – and bash his head on the ground until he gives ye what ye want?”

Richard shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea.”

Gareth shook his head. “Not really. I'll go get the mace.”

 

*

 

“Is this all your luggage?” Xanax asked, examining the mace, the sword, a what seemed to be a very thorough torture set carefully.

“Yup.”

“And what is the purpose of your visit to the Enchanted Forest?”

“Either getting compensation for a bad deal, or revenge. The jury is still out on that,” Richard told him, rather excitedly.

“I see. Alright, Sire. That seems easy enough. Should I write 'fragile' on it, or will you be taking it as carry on?”

“Nobody touches my stuff,” Gareth said, taking his weapons from the hands of the former spiritual guide and giving him a very suspicious look.

“Fair enough. I will remind you that there is going to be a door departing from the Enchanted Forest every forty eight hours, always at noon, so please keep an eye on the sun. We are not liable for any vermin, diseases, or plagues you might contract abroad, so it is best to have your wills in order before you leave. Will you be crossing coach, or business?”

Richard looked at Gareth, but he too had no idea what the other man meant.

Xanax pointed at the two doors right behind his counter, one made of wood and another made of slightly nicer wood.

“Ooh, business does look better. What do you think, Gareth?”

Gareth shrugged his shoulders. He didn't care. From the moment he got the mace ready, all he wanted was a chance to use it. All of this waiting was making him edgy.

“You are in luck, Sire,” Xanax said. “Business is just about to depart.”

“Finally!” Gareth snapped. “Lets get outta here!”

“Here we go!”

Xanax made a flourish with his hand. The door on the right opened.

“Look at that!” Ricahrd said, mesmerized by the lovely forest on the other side. “It seems easier than traveling by hat!”

“It is, Sire! Hats are a thing of the past. You just have to remember one thing: never leave-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, lovely. Lets go, Gareth.”

“But Sire!” Xanax called, as they crossed to the other side. “This is really important. The fate of your whole kingdom might rest upon it.”

Richard sighed. Right. Acting like a responsible ruler.

“What?”

“Don't you ever, _ever_ leave the door open.”

“...That's it?”

“You never know what perils from the other world could cross over to this land, Sire. Ogres, flying monkeys, possibly even an evil curse.”

Richard laughed. “A curse? Now, I am no expert in dark magic, but I don't believe there is magic powerful enough to cross realms just because there is an open-”

“Uhn, Xanax,” Gareth cut in, pointing at the sky. “What the hell is _that?”_

 _That_ happened to be a cloud of purple smoke, quickly approaching. So quickly that there was no time to close the door.

 

 


End file.
